


Blue Hyacinths

by Snickerdickles



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bodyswap, Fluff and Angst, Guilt, Heaven & Hell, Introspection, Lack of Communication, Light Angst, M/M, Overthinking, Requited Love, Trials
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:14:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21862033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snickerdickles/pseuds/Snickerdickles
Summary: "Aziraphale had wondered for quite some time what would happen if he should come into contact with Holy Water.Surely, he thought, he would not die, right? He wouldn't be injured so long as he was an angel. It was simply an objective fact. No more, no less."
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 15
Collections: Oh Come All Ye Sinful! A Depraved Holiday Exchange 2019





	Blue Hyacinths

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Scmnz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scmnz/gifts).



> There's a lot of talk of "what if" but i promise no one dies.

Part One: Before 

Aziraphale had wondered for quite some time what would happen if he should come in contact with Holy Water. 

Surely, he thought, he would not die. Right? He wouldn’t be injured so long as he was an angel. It was simply an objective fact. No more, no less. 

But all that business with lying to God about the flaming sword at the Garden, he betrayed orders and lied to Heaven and perhaps the most dangerous decision he had ever made, and yet the one he was most confident in, might be the one to get him killed: he loved Crowley. He knew it wasn’t a sin to love sincerely, and he certainly did, but for an Angel to love a Demon? That was an insult to the division of Heaven and Hell as God Herself had designed it, and who was he to challenge Her? 

And now that all those fears were forcefully being recognized with the impending trials in Heaven and Hell, which he and Crowley were really very sure of. And when he brought these fears up to Crowley a few days after the coming and passing of Armageddon, the results could have been better, but they could have been worse. At first. 

“Crowley? I have a question for you and you mustn't think less of me for it. And I want you to be honest with me. Okay?”

“Okay…” 

“Do you find me still pure, still holy, after all these years and all this disobedience against, you know…Heaven?”

Crowley, already less than eloquent, especially in situations so sensitive as this, did not quite know how to properly respond. He, of course, loved his Angel dearly, more than anything else he had ever encountered, more than any dream or fantasy he had ever had. However, was Aziraphale pure? Was he holy? In his eyes, he was holier than any daft prick in heaven, but in the eyes of God? He couldn’t say. He was, after all, quite far removed from Her light. But he also knew that God was impossibly hard to read and ever unpredictable, even to those still serving Her, and even though he had long since come to terms with his fall, he was still mostly unclear on the reasons for it. 

Was he pure, Crowley could say not. Aziraphale was a bastard through and through and he knew what that man was into and not all of it was quite so pretty. Anything Crowley felt for Aziraphale was pure entirely, for it was all based in love. Though, would that make him pure inherently or would it simply put him on the receiving end of Crowley’s purest emotions? 

However, Aziraphale was also the single most loving individual Crowley had ever met because he was so full of love and warmth that being with him felt better than God’s light, because that was a divided thing. No being, human or otherwise, could be that peaceful and that joyful and that loving without being pure. 

Yet, for all that thought and consideration and no doubt time Aziraphale spent waiting for a response, feeling worse and worse with each passing second, all Crowley could manage vocally was. 

“Baby, I know what you like, how pure can you be?” Because he is an idiot that just simply could not resist a stupid sex joke and oh god now Aziraphale looks like he’s about to cry and it’s his fault oh no oh no oh no

“No wait!” Crowley said as Aziraphale began to walk away. “Okay I’m sorry. You know I’m not good with my words, so let me try again.” Aziraphale now looked a bit less like he was about to cry and more like he was about to deck Crowley. He nodded. 

“To me, you are pure. Because I know you and I know how you feel and how you care for me and for everything. I know that when you feel, it is raw, unrefined emotion until you refine it. You are so happy and honest and bright that you couldn’t not be pure.” Aziraphale looked better. Less angry and less sad and not quite satisfied, but helped. 

“As for holiness, I don’t really know. I know I’m not holy and you love me perfectly well. I don’t think I could say anything because on the one hand, you have lied to God’s face and defied Her plan, but on the other hand you are the most angelic of the angels. Lucifer fell for refusing to love the humans as he loved Her, and you love the humans so much that you were willing to risk falling to defend them.”

“Alright, I suppose I can accept that. Thank you, dear.” 

And then the conversation was over and their plan was to be executed the next morning. They would switch tonight and stay at each other’s homes. Aziraphale never voiced his concerns to Crowley. He needn’t upset the situation more than he already had, so he kept quiet. 

However, Crowley had convinced Aziraphale to take a short rest while he had Crowley’s flat. Said it would be good for him to give his nerves a rest. 

So while Crowley was presumably unconscious in Aziraphale’s bed that he had used all of two times, Aziraphale was sitting on the floor of Crowley’s bedroom thinking. He had said a short prayer the way humans did it, knowing full well that the chance that it was heard was very low. He just needed that vague sliver of possibility. 

“I know what I’ve done. I know it hasn’t been what you wanted, but it was all out of love. For the humans. For Crowley. For Adam. For Warlock. They were just children. You value love, and I don’t know which cancels out the other, the disobedience or love. But I will soon. So I just ask that you not hurt them. Please. Amen.” 

After that, his thoughts travelled to what would happen if he were to die tomorrow. He would never have said anything to Crowley. He would never have experienced all those wild and possibly bad things that Crowley went on about. And he may as well have, because now, all of that refraining from the pleasures of life (save food) was for naught. He saved himself as best he could and now he was going to die by heaven’s hand anyways. It had never mattered. 6000 years of being of being so afraid to love a demon that he had kept all of those warm, cold, and hot feelings inside meant nothing because he was going to die anyways. 

Maybe he could finally let himself picture it. Them together. With a little cottage or living above the bookshop. Together. Them watching movies. Together. Maybe Crowley would let him indulge of those pleasures of the flesh. Maybe he would indulge himself. Maybe. Maybe, just maybe, Aziraphale could see Crowley. All of him. Maybe he would look now, while he had the chance. He would. 

Perhaps he wasn’t in the best state of mind, but this was his last chance, his only chance. He had to take advantage now, and he could keep it to himself before he died tomorrow. Ceased to exist. Or, he could let it all out as his last hoorah and tell Crowley everything before their trials and if Crowley rejected him, as he was fairly sure he would, he would never have to see the consequences because he would no longer exist. 

So why not give himself this now? 

He stood in front of the mirror, fully clothed and with Crowley’s sunglasses still on, and he stared. For a while. Then he got closer and removed them, and when he looked into his eyes, Crowley’s eyes, he was in awe. They were gorgeous. All the best parts of human irises were his entire eye. All the white swirls and light reflections and streaks of green and prints of orange and dark corners. And his pupils flexed as they adjusted to the dim light of the room, and Aziraphale noticed he could see far better in the dark than he could in his own body. Then he backed away and threaded his thin fingers through Crowley’s hair, feeling how it would have been soft, had it not been full of gel and mousse. He trailed his hand down his cheek and felt his neck. Long and defined. 

He reached for the buttons on Crowley’s jacket and undid them shakily and slowly. Then he went for the bottom of his shirt and pulled it over his head while his heart hammered, and when he got it off, his eyes began to focus on the pale expanse of skin in the mirror with spatterings of ginger hair on his chest and on the lower half of his stomach in a gorgeous little trail that made him want to get the pants off as fast as possible without miracling them. His hands itched. He wanted to touch, but it wouldn’t be the same as if they were in their own bodies, and it would be tremendously unsatisfying. 

And then he was out of his head and back in the reality of what he was doing. He doesn’t know what jolted him out of it, maybe it was his conscious finally breaking through that haze of panic and fear and want. 

“Lord, I was going to do this without his permission. Without his consent. What am I doing?” He hurriedly put the shirt back on and sat back on the edge of the bed. And he started to cry. He didn’t know what was happening. He was terrified and so unprepared and he felt like a failure, and as the tears trailed slowly down his cheeks. He was completely, unabashedly wailing and bawling into the empty room, like he wanted attention. He wanted comfort. He wanted to be held, and he just could not stop. Then he laid back onto Crowley’s pristine sheets and continued to cry, holding his arms around himself. It was not comforting. Soon enough, he actually fell asleep. Aziraphale, who did not cry and did not sleep, cried himself to sleep. 

When morning came, he did not wake with the sunrise. He slept until 11, when he and Crowley had planned to meet at noon. So he pulled himself off the bed, straightened the sheets and headed to the bathroom to collect himself and fix the mess he had made of Crowley’s body. 

In the bathroom mirror, he carefully pulled a comb and some fresh gel through his hair until he was confident it was how Crowley always had it, then he fetched a towel and miracled some face wash after finding none in the overly-minimalist house, and he delicately scrubbed at his skin and dutifully massaged in moisturizer before collecting his jacket and shoes and leaving the flat. 

The walk there was a bit nerve-wracking, but he tried to get his mind off of his anxiety and make himself presentable after his mild incident last night by simply focusing on his walk. Aziraphale himself had flawless posture and held himself upright comfortably, but not confidently. So trying to match Crowley’s natural saunter, with his slouch and sway, was a bit difficult. 

When he approached Crowley, it was still odd to be looking at his own face. Then Crowley stood and the two walked together, talking about the most conspicuously inconspicuous topics possible. 

“It’s quite a nice day today, don’t you agree?” Crowley was first to set the tone. 

Aziraphale shrugged while Crowley spoke up again and began to drone on about literature. It was clear he was really taking his best guess on actual literary facts, but it did sound realistic. They walked up to the ice cream vendor and Aziraphale pointed to a picture of a cherry popsicle on the side of the cart and the man nodded. 

“What do you want, angel?” Aziraphale interrupted, perhaps for the better. 

“Oh! Hmmmm, may I have a vanilla with a flake, dear?” Aziraphale looked at the vendor again and he bent down into the cart to get the ice cream, and when he handed it to Crowley, it had a little cinnamon stick in it. 

When Aziraphale paid the man and began to walk away and it took him a moment to realize Crowley wasn’t following him before he turned around and saw exactly what he expected, but it was no less horrifying. Crowley was being dragged away by other angels, kicking and calling for him. He had planned for this, he prepared for this. He knows what he should be doing and he’s not doing it. His feet won’t move. This is his love they’re taking away, his love he never told, for a moment he thinks he may cry, and then he’s running towards him, calling for “Aziraphale”. This is the plan. This is going to work. Or it’s not, but he has to try. Just before he reaches him, Uriel steps in front of him and stops him, before he feels a massive throbbing pain in his skull and hears the hit and feels it in his eardrums. He’s face down on the concrete and in pain and terrified, but he’s following through. He’s trying. Then he’s unconscious and he can still hear Crowley calling for him when he closes his eyes. 

Part Two: During

Aziraphale was terrified. When he woke up, he was in Hell, recognizable by its rancid stench, dripping walls, and, of course, demons. When he first woke up, he was in a chair in an empty room, right across from a peeling poster that was simply a Bible passage.

“But the cowardly, the unbelieving, the vile, the murderers, the sexually immoral, those who practice magic arts, the idolaters and all liars—they will be consigned to the fiery lake of burning sulfur. This is the second death.”

How righteous of demons. 

But it truly was a wonder to him how they were threatening a supposed demon with Hell, the place he was already from. What if it meant that they knew. What if they knew that he wasn’t Crowley and he was going to die, that he was going to fall and he would lose himself and he would lose all he held dear. Part of him wanted to insist demons are uncreative idiots, using the Bible as their best source of threats. Another part thought that they believed he was Crowley and they thought he was rising again, that he took the Bible seriously, which was, of course, nonsense. Not even the most self-righteous of angels put much faith in the Bible. 

Whatever the case, the door to the room was opening and Dagon was coming to take him to his execution. To Crowley’s execution. Crowley was going to die. 

When he arrived in the room, he was greeted by Beelzebub and Hastur, who was looking especially traumatized. The show was back on. 

“Beelzebub.” Aziraphale grinned. He felt stupid and he was no less scared than he was in the room and last night. 

“Traitor. How do you plead?” Oh? So this was a trial? An actual trial? That was unexpected. 

Except it wasn’t really, because there was no true jury and Beelzebub had clearly made up their mind. It wasn’t all that worth it to plead innocent, so he shrugged and Beelzebub sentenced him to death by Holy Water. 

This was the moment of truth. This was what he had feared and awaited so nervously. This was what it was all coming to. This was the end. And yet, the plan was going exactly as predicted so far. He would never forgive himself if he exposed Crowley and got them both killed. So he had to keep it together. He felt like if he let his guard down for even an instant, he would cry again. 

It was okay. This was a show. An event. He can play Crowley and get them through this. He can do it. Crowley has saved him so many times over, he can do it just once. He can repay the favor. And if he did die, they would think it was Crowley and the real Crowley would be safe. 

When he turned his head, the Archangel Michael was in the doorway, holding a glass pitcher presumably full of Holy Water. She attempted to hand it off to the demon Dagon, who immediately took several steps back and shook his head. 

Beelzebub spoke up. “You do the honors, Michael.” 

Michael approached the bathtub behind Aziraphale and slowly began dumping the infinite liquid into the tub. The pitcher never emptied, and after several awkward minutes, the tub was full and Aziraphale almost felt that discorporation at this moment would be better than risking hurting Crowley’s body or himself. What if he got in and it hurt so bad he fessed up without meaning to? He started to undress and in the back of his mind, he could feel the incredible feeling of guilt remaining from last night. So he stopped at Crowley’s undershirt and underwear, leaving his socks on for the gimmick. 

He walked around to one end of the tub, sat on the edge, and let himself fall backwards into the water. It was warm. Holy Water is not warm, it’s freezing. It was comfortable, like a hot bath, but it wasn’t getting any hotter. It wasn’t burning him. It was engulfing him in comfort and reassurance. He knew that Holy Water was only ever anything but cold to tainted angels, but this felt good, and he hadn’t fallen yet. He hadn’t died yet, so he really turned it up to ten. He splashed at the screen separating him from the rest of the general demon population and a little towards the Duke of Hell themself. 

“Is there anything in the nine circles of Hell resembling a rubber duck?” Beelzebub and Michael looked equally terrified and awestruck. Vaguely fearful of a demon that could withstand that which was supposed to destroy them. 

“Well, now that it seems we’re all done here, Michael, can we get a towel?” Michael’s expression did not change as she snapped her fingers and handed Aziraphale the towel. Before he got out of the tub, he smiled. 

Part Three: After

Aziraphale, slightly shaken but ultimately refreshed, sat down on the bench in the park, the same bench as always, and took a deep exhale. He closed his eyes and sunk into the seat a bit, smiling. He was okay. He was unharmed. All that mattered now was Crowley. Was he okay?

He was. He sat down next to Aziraphale and looked at him, smiling just as wide. Aziraphale held out his hand and Crowley took it, and they were back in their own bodies. It was a bit disorienting, at first. The whole body switching business was. 

Aziraphale was now faced with a choice. He had forever now. He could never tell Crowley how he felt and be totally content with just seeing him be happy, which he knew was unlikely in the long run, but somehow more likely than his second option, which was to tell Crowley how he felt and risk being rejected or insulted or left and feeling so alone he would wish he had died in the bathtub of Holy Water. It was to be vulnerable or to put up more walls, and wait for that love to flood those walls when the day came and have to be faced with worse choices. It was now or later. And he was still running on the adrenaline of cheating death and cheating Hell and he wanted now. This was his chance. Do it before he lost his nerve. 

“Crowley, dear, I think I have something to tell you.”

“Over dinner, angel. How does the Ritz sound?”

Aziraphale smiled and nodded. 

At the Ritz, their first course was arriving as Aziraphale spoke up again.

“So, about that thing I wanted to tell you… I think I may have feelings for you, well, not quite actually, I know I have feelings for you, and I’m sorry because I know you don’t feel the same way, so the only reason I suppose I’m saying anything is to get it off my chest and in hopes you will let me down easy and continue being my friend regardless, which, it’s also of course very fair and understandable if you don’t want that and-” 

“Angel.” 

“Oh! Yes?” 

“You’re rambling.”

“Oh, I’m sorry my dear. Please excuse me.”

“Angel.”

“Yes?”

“Of course I feel the same. I have for a very long time now, and I haven’t left yet, have I.”

“No, I suppose not.” Aziraphale looked sheepish.

“Then I won’t start now. We’re okay now. We are safe, and we have forever to figure this out. Eternity can be a good thing, now that it’s not emptiness and demonic creatures roaming what’s left of the Earth. It’s okay now.”


End file.
